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Talk:The random post-y page/@comment-99.244.161.132-20120526143158
A request from Emiko. Enjoy! I step onto cool grass, fresh with dew drops, a result of the previous night's rain. I wriggle my toes, and stand on the balls of my feet. Sunlight plays in my golden blonde locks, dancing across my face. The slight wind tugs at my hair, as if jealous of the sun, begging for my attention. I twirl, spreading my arms. My palms are raised to heaven, as if to accept a gift from god. And in a way they are. This perfect, beautiful day. My mother sits on the front porch, watching me with her pale blue eyes. The same eyes she gave me and my brother, who lies curled up in her lap. Eyes that crinkle with happy lines, everytime she smiles. She's really proud of me right now. It's the summer after fourth grade. I'm nine now, by three days, twelve hours, six minutes and twenty seconds. My brother had just turned so, another twenty seconds after my birthday. We're twins. We look so alike, even though he's a boy and I'm a girl. We look so alike, sometimes teachers mistake us for each other. I always get mad when they do, and I have to lecture them on the difference between the two genders. They never make the same mistake twice after that. I finally get dizzy and fall to my knees, my short dress billowing up in a cloud of blue fabric. My brother giggles as my undergarments are revealed. I glare at him. My mom hushes him. "Kenta-kun, don't make fun of your sister. And Kyoko-tan, don't look at your brother like that." She pulls down my skirt. "You're getting big. You're even outgrowing your clothes." I sigh. "I don't want to be big." "But you are." she insists. "You're getting so mature, too. Soon, I'll look behind me and wonder where my little Kyoko went." She wipes away the budding tears. "Don't cry mommy" I say. "I don't want to grow up. And i won't. I'll be your little Kyoko forever." Now I look back on this memory with a twinge of annoyance. How I long to grow up now. What kind of brain damaged kid had I been? What kid didn't talk about "When I grow up"? What a baka... That's what I think as I stand on the edge of this reactor. I twirl the roll of Hazamat tape around one arms, like a bracelet. Bcause of my childish wishes, my life was ruined. Girls hated me. i wasn't mature enough to understand their sophisiticated and somewhat perverted humour. Boys laughed at me. I wasn't feminine enough for their tastes, with my flat chest and tiny hips. Kenta... He grew up too. Girls fawn over him every second of the day. The young man behind me. "You don't have to do this you know" he assures me. I brush him off. "Kiss off, Ken. You don't get it." "What is there to get?" "What is there to not get? Because of me beig a stupid kid, I can never grow up. I'm stuck forever as a freakin' ten year old." My theory sounds insane, I realize. But it feels almost supernatural for me be thisway. It's scary. If it wasn't magic, then what was it? "You don't haveto kill yourself though." he continues. "You only live once." I laugh, bitterly. "Kyoko Soma only lives once. She's going to die, not me." He looks at me confused. "If you aren't Kyoko Soma, then who are you?" he questions me. I can feel the stress radating off him, like the toxins below us. I shrug, a mad grin spreading across my lips. "I dunno. It'll be a surprise." He backs away. "Kyoko..." I ignore him, turning back to the reactor. "I'm going to die." I say. "Kyoko!" That's the last thing I hear before I fall backwards into the chemicals. I should be dead. That's my next thought. But I'm not. I'm just unconsious. I'm not in the reactor any more. The world is blurry but I can tell its a hospital. My heart rate speeds up, the monitor going off. Someone outside my vision sighs."She lived." Someone else curses. "Damn, poor kid. Breaking half her bones, melting off half her face. She looked like Hell. Literally, like the Norse Goddess of death." "It's a wonder she survived." says a third. "It's a wonder we could rebuild her." corrects a fourth. "She's gonna die when she wakes up." the second says, pesimistically. "Must've been pretty before this." The first replies. "It's better that she sees her face now. She'll be shocked, but won't die." "If you wanted to see her die, ya coulda woken her up before the surgery. Letter see all of the gore. That hole in her cheek, made by the acidic chemicals, the blood spurting from her right eye..." I shudder at the description. I must've looked like the walking dead. A chair scoots back at the sound of shuddering. "She's awake." Someone touches my head. "Jane? Are you up?" Jane? Where the hell did they get that name? Were they pulling stuff out of their butts? "Jane..." I repeat. "My name's not 'Jane', it's..." But then I stop myself. What was my name? Who was I, really? I couldn't remember. The heart monitor speeds up, the lines jumping dangerously up and down, like an out of control roller coaster. The doctors clamber over and touch their cold hands to my heart. That only makes me freak out even more. "Who am I?!" I ask, in that same, slightly crazed tone I used back at the reactor. The reactor...What had happened there? The second doctor swears again. "Just as we thought. The chemicals got to her brain, screwed with her memory. We were hoping you could tell us, Jane." There it was again. That name. Jane. Jane Doe. Unindentified. "Anesthesia." says the third doctor, confirming the suspicion. "Maybe you should take a look at your face. To warn you, you won't see any resemblance to whoever you are. But I thought you'd still like to see it." I nod. And I feel a wet, ripping sensation across the side of my face, like wet paper-mache. My vision is obscured for a minute, by the hospital's blinding hot lights. But as the white spots leave my eyes, I come into focus. There is a mirror across from me. In it, I see a woman. She's tall and thin, with an hourglass figure. Her hair is mostly brown, with a few singed strands of blonde hair mixed in. Most likely old hair that they didn't rip out. Her face is gaunt, yet still in someway beautiful. Her eyes a pale blue, but after staring for a few minutes, I find flecks of green. A toxic green. Her nose is straight. Her lips are full. She is me. "I'm sorry." says the fourth doctor, who I can now see is a man with thick, coke bottle glasses. "We tried our best." "Who am I?" I repeat. "We don't know." says the third, a hispanic woman with a dark bob. "No one does." "Decide for yourself." says the first. I wrack my brain, trying to remember. Trying to grasp my name...Her name...The girl who died in that satanic pit. Cck. The sound is the only thing I can find. Cck. My name had a 'Cck' in it. "K..." I choke out the sound. "K. Kagamine. Kagamine Rin. That's my new name." The only thing that comes to mind. The doctors nod. "Rin Kagamine, then." And suddenly, surprisingly, tears spring to my eyes. Whoever she was, I was, I miss her. Suddenly I want to go back. Now you realize that you can't have it both ways. You don't appreciate something until its gone. You can never be content with anything that you have. My other self died in a nuclear reactor and died. And I can go back.